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1909 
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LYRICS OF NEW ENGLAND 
AND OTHER POEMS 



JOHN H. FLAGG 




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LYRICS OF NEW ENGLAND 
AND OTHER POEMS 



LYRICS OF NEW ENGLAND 

AND 

OTHER POEMS 



BY v/ 
JOHN H.^ FLAGG 



THE TORCH PRESS 

CEDAR RAPIDS. IOWA 

1909 



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Copyright 1909 

BY 

John H. Flagg 
all rights reserved 



©CU25M 



To Edward Quintard, by whose skilful 
service as a physician and unfailing devo- 
tion as a friend I have been made a double 
debtor, these pages are inscribed in lasting 
gratitude 

/. H. F. 



PEEFACE 

This volume is the outgrowth of a smaller 
one, privately printed, in 1902, under title of 
the '' Monarch," and intended solely for pre- 
sentation as a Christmas salutation to personal 
friends of the author. Bequests for copies hav- 
ing long since exhausted that limited edition, 
he has been urged to publish a new volume, to 
embrace not only the numbers contained in the 
former one, but others that have since been 
written. Hence the present volume. 

The author hopes that whosoever may honor 
him by its perusal will deal charitably with 
its admitted shortcomings, in view of the un- 
toward conditions under which the work was 
undertaken — conditions well understood by 
those for whom the book was primarily intend- 
ed. The continued request for copies of the 
earlier edition is accepted as an assurance that 
hitherto this has been graciously accorded, and 
it is now asked that only like indulgence may 
be extended to this later work of 

The Author 

114 West Fifty-eighth Street, 
New York, October, 1909 



CONTENTS 



Childhood's Home 11 

The Brook 20 

Ode to Vermont 24 

A New England Twilight 27 

The Testy Deacon 30 

The Awakening 43 

Justin S. Morrill 46 

The Woods 49 

The Return 54 

The Patriarch Oak 59 

Sleep 74 

The Monarch 76 

On a Dew Drop 82 

Ode to a Bullfinch 83 

A Gentle Maiden do I Know .... 85 

An Amorette 88 

Captivity 91 

I Think of Thee 93 



8 CONTENTS 

A Memory 95 

The Sluggard ........ 97 

Undaunted 99 

Across the Street 101 

Clark and the Oregon . . . . . . 106 

Childhood's Dream 113 

William McKinley . . . . . . .117 

Destiny 119 

The Old Year 123 

God's Horologue 125 

Disillusion 126 

An Epithalamium 130 

Mont Blanc . . ' 132 

Columbia 134 

To Marjorie 136 

The Alchemist 138 

The Final Voyage 139 



POEMS 



CHILDHOOD'S HOME 



I drempt of busy childhood days, where sun- 
shine ever clung, 

Back in my country home again, when this old 
heart was young — 

Through one brief hour of ecstacy, when every 
thought was bliss, 

"With every care forsaken, what spell could be 
like this I 

My ravished eyes sought every place — each 
object they once knew — 

With nothing changed in all these years and 
nothing added new — 

Transfixed I stood amid the scenes so long ob- 
scured from sight. 



12 CHILDHOOD' B HOME 

As through the windows shone, methought, a 
consecrated light. 

I saw my mother's flower-pots upon the win- 
dow-sill, 

Wherein grew sweet geraniums that drooped 
with thirst until 

At sunset she would sprinkle them, and fondle 
each with care — 

Methought, to gladden my return, their frag- 
rance was still there. 

I saw the old melodeon that many an eve I'd 
heard 

In hymns led by my mother's voice that hal- 
lowed every word. 

This, long since, joined the choir unseen, in an- 
thems sung on high : 

I sometimes think I hear it now, through cloud- 
rifts in the sky. 



CHILDHOOD'S HOME 13 

In yonder nook — its customed place — stood 

father's old oak chair, 
Descended from ancestral lines — a gift from 

heir to heir: 
As if to stay each stranger hand, and shield it 

from all harm, 
A spider here had spun its web, outstretched 

from arm to arm. 

How often here I'd clambered to my father's 

waiting knee. 
To hear his thrilling stories of brave deeds on 

land and sea — 
Of Indian scalpers on the plains, of pirates 

fierce and bold. 
Of hunters' daring for wild beasts — and those 

who delve for gold. 

Here was the book-case just as when, at restful 
evening time, 



14 CHILDHOOD'S HOME 

I searched the well-worn volumes through for 

picture or for rhyme, 
Since for plain books I did not care — they 

baffled me with lore — 
And every one I tried to read I found to be a 

bore. 

There hung the quaint old mirror still, just 
where it hung before, 

When I had gazed on my first suit, bought at 
the village store; 

And donning once my brother's clothes to it 
I straightway ran, 

To see how big and brave I'd look when I be- 
came a man. 

There stood the same old kitchen stove, where 

many a nipping day, 
I'd held my freezing, outstretched hands when 

I came in from play. 



CHILDHOOD'S HOME 15 

This good old friend had one grave fault — it 

burned out wood so fast — 
I hourly lugged an armful in until the cold 

months passed. 

Here hour by hour would mother give her 
patient, willing toil, 

To make the good things for us all that care- 
less cooks might spoil; 

"Who made for me plump turnovers, and cookies 
by the score, 

And yet I claimed I grew so fast, I needed just 
one more. 

There peered the old remorseless clock that 
watched me, argus-eyed. 

And when my bed-time hour arrived my pati- 
ence oft had tried. 

'Twas then I knew it ran too fast, while mother 
claimed 'twas slow; — 



16 CHILDHOOD'S HOME 

Whatever my contention was, I always had to 
go — 

Go to my far-off, attic bed, when mother led the 

way, 
Whose candle and assuring words my fears did 

not allay. 
She bore away the candle, after kissing me 

good-night. 
But all through life I Ve felt that Mss, and seen 

that vanished light. 

There hung the same old ample shelf that we 

called * 'father's own,'* 
Where he kept Bible, pipe and pen, yet all "odd 

things" were thrown, 
Plus "The Old Farmer's Almanac," where we 

were blandly told, 
To "Look — about — this — time — for — 

squalls" — which prophecy controlled. 



CHILDHOOD'S HOME 17 

When lo, I heard the rattling hail upon the win- 
dow-pane, 

Forewarning that dread winter days were steal- 
ing back again: 

Thanksgiving was approaching, too — that boon 
from old Cape Cod — 

Ordained by pious Pilgrim sires, in gratefulness 
to God. 

And whistling then for dear "old Jack," he 
bounded to my side — 

That noble, true, confiding friend — my com- 
rade and my pride; 

"Where'er I strayed, he, too, must go — I al- 
ways felt his touch — 

'Twas hard to call him but a brute, he knew 
and felt so much. 

Together then we wandered down through our 
old sugar-place, 



18 CHILDHOOD 8 HOME 

Towards the brook and old mill-hole, where oft 

I'd bobbed for dace, 
And once had ''hooked" a wise old tront, and 

quivered with delight. 
Until my line caught on a snag, quite hidden 

from my sight. 

Throughout that summer, day by day — at 
dawn, at noon, at eve — 

I vainly angled for that trout more hours than 
you'd believe; 

But while he thus outwitted me, I learned be- 
yond a doubt. 

That if on earth there was a sage, it was that 
wise old trout. 

I woke to find these vanished scenes of child- 
hood's cherished hours 

A dream of what they once had been, and only 
perished flowers; 



CHILDHOOD'S HOME 19 

Yet grateful am I e'en to be tlius led through 

memory's path, 
To pluck with joy such perfumed leaves from 

Dreamland's aftermath. 



THE BEOOK 



I am the brook, tlie nimble brook, 
Born in my lone, sequestered nook. 
Mid God's untrodden mountain-peaks 
Where Nature every language speaks. 

Unlike the footed beasts of earth — 
So frail and helpless at their birth — 
At first I creep, then straightway run, 
Ere my first day has scarce begun. 

On then I rush with quickened pace 
And force my way from place to place. 
While other brooklets to me flow 
To swell my volume as I go. 



THE BROOK 21 

The alders nod when I pass by; 
The reeds and rushes courtesy ; 
And where the lilies rise and float 
I suck rare nectar from each throat. 

And when I'm wearied and depressed, 
I loiter at my pools to rest, 
But soon press on with doubled haste, 
To catch the hours allowed to waste. 

When lo, I*m halted on my way, 
And shackled lest I break away; 
Then like a convict made to toil — 
Man deeming that his rightful spoil. 

Thus forced, I tread his endless wheel; 
I grind his grist, and mould his steel; 
His looms I work with tireless hand. 
And all his varied arts expand. 



22 T'BE BBOOK 

If once I break from servitude, 
I still am sought, am still pursued ; 
Where'er I turn, or whither flee, 
Man first is there to harness me. 

At last, howe'er, I rend the chain 
That bound me for his sordid gain, 
But not until I've grown ten fold 
Since down the mountain-side I bowled. 

And soon I wake, as from a dream, 
To find myself a tidal stream, 
With brackish taste upon my tongue — 
Unknown to me when I was young. 

And whence this plight; how can it be 
That I, impelled towards the sea. 
Am forced to turn about each day 
And backward trace my former way? 



THE BROOK 23 

Bewildered by this constant change 
(To me so meaningless and strange) 
I scarce can tell, howe'er I try, 
Just what I am each day, or why. 

But hark ! I hear the ocean roar 
And wonder at my fate in store; 
O'erwhelmed I'd be with doubt and fear 
Had I not faith that God is near. 

My destiny, thus far benign. 
Was fashioned by a Hand divine; 
On that I always have relied, 
And with it every ill defied. 

So now, when doomed henceforth to be 
A plaything of the fretful sea. 
That Hand, found ever at my side, 
Will not forsake me, but abide. 



ODE TO VERMONT 



Thy very name doth symbolize 
Thy verdant peaks that proudly rise 
As if to buttress with their might 
The unpropped dome of heavenly light. 

Thy Dmid forests still conceal 
The eagles that high o'er them wheel, 
And shelter well the panting deer 
"When driven from the open near. 

The beanty of thy matchless hills 
The ravished eye with rapture fills, 
While meadows nestle in between 
As if too modest to be seen. 



ODE TO VERMONT 25 

Thy fruitful fields and fertile plains 

Bear flocks and herds and bounteous grains; 

Where'er the gladdened eye may rest 

The husbandman seems donbly blessed. 

Thy hillside homes and hamlets all 
Proclaim content and thrift withal — 
Won by the hardened hand of toil 
From thy well-tilled, though rugged soil. 

No trembling slave yet breathed thy air 
And felt his shackles bind him there, 
For by thy ancient Bill of Eights* 
All men stand equal on thy heights. 

Sons of thy birth, such land is thine ; 

Where first thy sires reared freedom's shrine; 



* Vermont, in July, 1777 — fourteen years anterior to admis- 
sion into the Union — was first of all the states and territories 
to prohibit slavery by constitutional provision. 



26 ODE TO VERMONT 

Who vanquished each invading foe, 
And swept him back, or laid him low. 

Thus to the fittest can we trace 
Thy present sturdy, virile race. 
And may it ever there remain 
To rule as now o'er thy domain. 

And for that land, by Heaven caressed, 
Where all are free, and none oppressed, 
Thank well those sires whose master hand 
Built from thy rock, and not thy sand, 

And guard with more than pious care 
Thy heritage, as trusted heir. 
So that forever here shall be 
The mountain home of liberty! 



A NEW ENGLAND TWILIGHT 



'Tis Nature's chosen hour for rest, 
When all is calm within her breast ; 
When Day still leaves a friendly light 
To guide the footsteps of the Night; 

When, one by one, a silent star 
Peers through some portal left ajar, 
While languid beams the pallid moon 
As if reviving from a swoon. 

The cows, long since, in lagging train 
Came browsing down the pasture lane, 
To yield their tribute unaware, 
In turn for scanty keep and care. 



28 A NEW ENGLAND TWILIGHT 

The housewife spreads the frugal raeal; 
The pigs for theirs are heard to squeal, 
While from her stall the old gray mare 
Neighs loudly for her well-earned share. 

The bat, which all the day hath hung. 
Unhooks himself from where he clung, 
And with the swallows debonair 
Flits here and there and everywhere. 

The whippoorwiU now comes to fill 

Our souls with deeper rapture still, 

Whose song, suppressed throughout the day, 

But sweeter makes his evening lay. 

The turkeys take to roost like troops 
In dressed-up lines — not huddled groups — 
While night-hawks far above them fly — 
The sole explorers of the sky. 



A NEW ENGLAND TWILIGHT 29 

The orchestra of croaking frogs 
Strikes up among the lowland bogs, 
Whereat the fire-flies now advance 
And take their partners for the dance. 

At length, as darkness deeper grows, 
All creatures nestle to repose 
Save night's weird sentinel, the owl, 
Eobed in his monkish cope and cowl. 

For Nature's curfew has been rung, 
And songbirds have their vespers sung; 
No sound the freshening breeze now brings, 
Save hurrying midnight's rustling wings. 



THE TESTY DEACON 



'Twas down in the old Pine Tree state 
Where chanced to pass what I relate ; 
Where pie at every meal is found, 
And Yankees at their best abound; 

Where, too, they serve their pork and beans 
In methods fit for kings and queens. 
But where French gastronomic art 
Is not in vogue in any part. 

'Twas in a rural farming town 
That never yet had won renown, 
Where dwelt a farmer — Ephraim Hale — 
The **hero" of this touching tale. 



THE TESTY DEACON 31 

Now "Deacon Eph," as lie was called, 
Wore well his years, though long since bald. 
And led a fairly righteous life. 
Though always testy with his wife. 

But she — the counterpart of him — 
Indulged his every peevish whim; 
So meek and humble had she grown. 
That lasting feuds were seldom known. 

He therefore found domestic life 
A blessed boon with such a wife ; 
But had she been a grumpy dame 
That life might not have been so tame. 

Long deacon in the village church. 
His name thus far had known no smirch; 
This being so, folks thought that he 
Was what good deacons all should be. 



32 TEE TESTY DEACON 

With Yankee thrift he money made 
By raising geese which often strayed 
E'en to his neighbor's very door, 
And wrecked his garden o'er and o'er. 

One day this neighbor — Moses Slade — 
Espied them, while in ambush laid. 
Each delving like a lusty Turk 
To ruin all his spring-time work. 

Enraged, he seized each poaching goose, 
And ere he turned one of them loose. 
Slit through the web between its toes. 
And made one foot just like a crow's. 

In panic then they hustled all 
To get beyond the garden wall, 
And chose the shortest route for home. 
With no desire to further roam. 



TEE TESTY DEACON 33 

They sought at once — by instinct led — 
The near-by pond, where they were bred, 
And then proceeded, one by one, 
To navigate as often done. 

But lo! all calculations failed, 
And their aquatic ardor quailed 
When round and round their bodies spun. 
With not an inch of headway won. 

Now one more fault the Deacon had. 
Which was a temper, always bad; 
And this he lashed with passion's whip, 
And made it sting at every clip. 

So when he saw his injured geese. 
His rage foretold a breach of peace; 
He swore that for this dastard trick 
He'd have revenge, and have it quick. 



34 TEE TESTY DEACON 

Now lie had known for many a day 
Just where his geese were wont to stray, 
For sore complaint had oft been made 
Of their fonl work, by neighbor Slade. 

So, well disguised, the first dark night, 
He sought that neighbor's bam for spite, 
And from the tail of his old mare 
He shaved off every blessed hair. 

Now Slade, when piqued, raged like a bear, 
(Some thought because he had red hair) 
And would the least affront resent 
And visit with dire punishment. 

And he avowed that he alone 
Knew by whose hand the deed was done, 
For he'd pursued the freshest trail. 
And that led straight to Deacon Hale. 



THE TESTY DEACON 35 

"My turn," he said, ''has come at last. 
To even up for all the past, 
And now I'll tan his tongh old hide. 
And drive him from the church beside. ' * 

He therefore sought a magistrate 
To whom he did his object state, 
Which, (keeping mum about his geese) 
Appeared to be the "public peace." 

He then on oath charged Ephraim Hale 
With crime, in that he did assail 
And mutilate his old bay mare 
By cutting off her caudal hair. 

He further swore that the offense 
Arose from malice, called "prepense," 
And that the act did violate 
The peace and dignity of the State. 



36 THE TESTY DEACON 

He therefore prayed the Court to grant 
A warrant for the miscreant, 
Which, with a grave, judicial air, 
Was signed and issued then and there. 

'Twas with much craft that neighbor Slade 
On Saturday, this charge had made, 
So that arrest, if on that night. 
Would make still worse the Deacon's plight. 

Just at the hour of evening prayers 
Went forth the Sheriff unawares 
To make arrest of Deacon Hale 
And take him to the county jail. 

The Deacon answered his loud knock 
As struck the hour of eight o'clock, 
And warmly bade him enter in, 
As if he were his fondest kin. 



THE TESTY DEACON 37 

His mission being soon explained, 
The sheriff, as if deeply pained. 
The warrant read, in doleful tones, 
Oft punctured by the Deacon's groans. 

Then Ephraim, who was much enraged, 
Tore like a tiger first encaged, 
And charged upon *Hhat viper, Slade," 
The outrage of this dastard raid. 

Though "Mother Hale" for mercy pled. 
And grievous tears abundant shed — 
All proved to be of no avail 
To save her raving spouse from jail. 

Full half that wretched night was o'er, 
When swung the Jailor's ponderous door, 
Through which the Sheriff quickly passed 
Together with his charge, held fast. 



38 TEE TESTY DEACON 

Tlie Deacon still with anger burned, 
Yet meekly to the Jailor turned 
As if his mild, though searching eye. 
Betokened welcome sympathy. 

''How can," he shrieked, "one in my plight 
Get from this den this very night?" 
"Until you're tried, you must get bail," 
The Jailor said, "or stay in jail." 

"That," he rejoined, "I'll do straightway. 
And leave this hole ere break of day, 
Then with my wife to church I'll go. 
And no one of this scrape shall know." 

"You can't do that," the Jailor said, 
"For Justice lies asleep in bed; 
Besides, the Sabbath's now well on. 
And that, in law, is dies non.^^ 



TEE TESTY DEACON 39 

The Deacon closing not Ms eyes 
Thronghont that night tried to devise 
The means whereby he might get bail 
And quit, for good, that cursed jail. 

That Sabbath day he gave to prayer, 

And thoughts of sacred things elsewhere; 

His waiting home, his weeping wife, 

And church he'd missed not once through life. 

When bail, at length, had been obtained. 
And Ephraim had his freedom gained, 
His homeward journey he began — 
A sadder, though much wiser man. 

But from the first, in church and out, 
"Were those who never had a doubt 
That somewhere there was evidence 
To fix on him that grave offense. 



40 TEE TESTY DEACON 

Therefore a meeting of the church 
Was called to instigate a search, 
And members chosen by "the chair" 
Were sent to view the hapless mare. 

They found, indeed, an ancient brute 
Bereft of caudal growth hirsute. 
But not one fact to prove withal, 
Who plied the art tonsorial. 

And so, their mission having failed, 
(A fact which some no doubt bewailed) 
There seemed to be no earthly clue 
Which they with hope could then pursue. 

But while no headway had been won 
To show by whom the deed was done, 
A Tramp came sliding down the mow. 
Who told by whom, and when, and how. 



THE TESTY DEACON 41 

He stated that, ''On one dark night 
While in the barn, appeared a light," 
And that he "watched and saw old Hale 
With sheep-shears slash that hoss's tail." 

*'He knew," he said, ''the old cuss well," 
And divers instances did tell, 
When from his watch-dogged honse he'd fled, 
While foraging for needful bread. 

From what they thus had seen and heard, 
Their souls were shocked and deeply stirred, 
And all agreed, with prompt accord, 
To put the culprit to the sword, 

For now the church was up in arms, 
(And for just once, omitted psalms) ; 
Their Deacon was in deep disgrace 
And in the church, was out of place. 



42 TEE TESTY DEACON 

From office he was then deposed; 
His name was dropped, his pew was closed, 
And neighbor Slade, more strange than all, 
Was chosen deacon through his fall. 

That tranquil town had never known 
Such tumult as was now upthrown. 
And long it was, in church and out. 
Before its peace was brought about. 

But peace unto these life-long foes 
Has also come to end their woes ; 
Not peace begot of passions cooled 
In hearts where once a vengeance ruled, 

But from their being laid to rest 
In the old churchyard's well-scarred breast: 
'Tis just because they're dead, you see, 
That now they dwell in unity ! 



THE AWAKENING 



At length the mystic touch of Spring 
Awakes the slumbering forms of earth, 

When Nature, 'neath her warming wing, 
Imparts her semblance of rebirth. 

Each bud now yearns to be a flower 
While yet its form is scarce revealed, 

And visited by sun and shower 
Is fondled by a Hand concealed. 

'Tis now that sympathizing Spring 
Restores what Autumn bore away. 

And in her lavish hand doth bring 
The blossoms of exultant May, 



44 TEE AWAKENING 

Whose breath infuses every breeze 
With odors and perfumes divine, 

Drawn from the blossomed apple-trees 
And every fragrant bud and vine. 

The wild-geese drag, on tireless wing, 
Their steedless harrow through the sky, 

And thus make known that jocund Spring — 
Her apron filled with flowers — draws nigh. 

The robins vie with sweetest song 

The bobolinks and orioles — 
Sweetest because suppressed so long 

Their carols burst from brimming souls. 

We hear the chirp of building birds. 
And cawing of the high-perched crows. 

While from the far-off browsing herds, 
The cow-bells' drowsy tinkle flows. 



TEE AWAKENING 45 

The blackbirds from the meadows cry; 

The plover pipes from yonder bogs, 
And from the stagnant pool hard by 

Eise languorous murmurings of the frogs. 

And all these mingled sounds create 

A soul-enchanting harmony, 
As one by one they undulate 

Through Nature's throbbing symphony. 

The odors breathed, the sights we see, 
The sounds we hear, by day, by night. 

Hold us enthralled in reverie. 
And in a spell of glad delight. 



JUSTIN S. MOEEILL 



(a senatoe op the united states from 1867 
TO 1899). 

EEAD AT A GATHEEING OF HIS FEIENDS AT HIS 

EESIDENCE IKT WASHINGTON 

ON HIS EIGHTY-THIED BIETHDAY, 

APEiL 14th, 1893 

Like some o'ertowering forest oak that still 
"Withstands the blasts of four-score years and 

more, 
While growths of younger years uprooted fall ; 
Hoary with ripened leaf, yet valiant, strong ; 
Those rapturous days are once again thine own. 
When virgin buds, kissed by the vernal sun, 
From joyful lips speak gratitude. 
We hail thee now, with fonder, firmer grasp. 



JUSTIN 8. MOBBILL 47 

Thankful to Him who rules all destinies, 
That, well-nigh shivered by the furious blast* 
That bent thee low, and made fond hearts de- 
spair, 
Thou'rt left but stronger by the gale, and still 
Canst with thy friends rejoice, this natal day, 
To stand on earth, though gazing into heaven! 

Thy rest has come. And with thy worth and 

fame 
So justly earned, nought can enhance thee more. 
'Twas when thy country, looted of its hoard — 
When treason sapped its heart-blood and its 

life — 
That thou didst touch the well-spring with thy 

wand. 
And from it gushed the vital stream that saved. 
And though thy country's deepest, foulest stain 
Must needs be washed away in blood and tears, 



* A serious illness. 



48 JUSTIN S. MOBBILL 

The fettered have been freed, and hushed the 

din 
Of cursed war, whose awful uproar once 
Convulsed the troubled land from sea to sea. 
Saved is the State, and hostile cannon now 
Are moulded into pyramids of peace ! 
And lo, the temple thou hast helped to rear 
To justice long by fate denied, now marks 
The uplift of a race enslaved 
Toward the birth-born, blood-gained rights of 

man. 

Old friend. 

Thy well-earned rest has come. A grateful 

State 
Whose weal was known, and served so long, so 

well, 
E 'en now would lay fresh garlands on thy brow ; 
But needing nought to make thy fame endure. 
It prays that thou shalt have forevermore. 
That lasting peace thou hast for others won ! 



THE WOODS 



Fain to the vaulted woods I go, where solitude 

doth reign, 
And seat me on some lichened rock — a brief 

surcease to gain — 
From turmoil of the market-place, where greed 

with covin vies. 
And human souls are bought and sold, as well 

as merchandise. 

Here would I breathe the balsamed air, the 

freshness of the trees, 
And listen to the song of birds, and himi of 

gathering bees ; 
Ah, here is peace, supernal peace, a paradise 

regained. 



50 THE WOODS 

Where every care of life is lost, and blissful rest 
attained. 

Here spread the hemlock's feathery wings; here 

lift the stately pines ; 
And here the birches whiter seem, by ruddy, 

clinging vines ; 
Here, too, the fruitful chestnuts tower, and in 

the lengthening year. 
With bursting burrs and shining nuts the 

scampering squirrels cheer. 

On yonder spruce, now spectral grown, and aged 

with countless ills, 
The lone woodpecker urgent raps — then listens 

where he drills — 
To hear the toiling insect stir, where strix>s of 

bark yet cling, 
Then raps again till one is found, then flies on 

fleeter wing. 



THE WOODS 51 

I hear the cawing crows above, that fly against 

the breeze, 
And then the locust's ceaseless chirr that comes 

from distant trees; 
The nimble chipmunk's call I hear, that brings 

her wandering young, 
To share with her some early nut, now dropt 

from where it clung. 

Where yonder tasseled alders grow, with pussy- 
willows near, 

A gurgling rill meanders by to lull the wearied 
ear. 

Whose murmuring voice is half suppressed by 
low, o'erhanging banks. 

Which marvel at its tortuous course, and other 
playful pranks. 

The trillium and anemone, throughout each 
summer day, 



52 THE WOODS 

Waft their sweet kisses back and forth across 

the rippling way; 
And thinking they are qnite unseen, they give 

the world no thought, 
But mirrored in that tell-tale brook are all 

their amours caught. 

But hark ! I hear the partridge drum, to call his 

absent mate; 
And then the silver-throated thrush his ecstacies 

relate. 
The veeries and the vireos make all the woods 

rejoice, 
And rapture comes when whippoorwills add 

their exultant voice. 

Thus Nature's untrained orchestra doth cheer 

the pensive soul. 
And countless other joys are found to comfort 

and console; 



TEE WOODS 53 

And while a grateful memory clings to trans- 
ports that have passed, 

If some, perchance, shall be forgot, these sure 
shall be the last. 



THE EETUEN 



From native village, years away, 
I once more trod its lonely street 

The morning of a summer's day, 
Nor saw one face to know and greet. 

And here, anon, I paused to view 
Some once-familiar spot, but lo, 

No trace remained of what I knew. 
For all had vanished long ago. 

I crossed the bridge where once the stream 
Ean deep and dark and hurriedly. 

But now I saw — how like a dream — 
Its waters ripple languidly. 



THE BETUBN 55 

I sought, near by, the school-liouse where 

In torment of captivity, 
The droning, dawdling days spent there 

Were to me hke eternity. 

Though here I'd bent to many a task 
Throughout my boyhood, year by year, 

Desertion stared, and seemed to ask: 

''What stranger is now sauntering here?" 

Hard by, the ''meeting-house" still stood 
Where on each Sabbath old and young 

Met as in common brotherhood 

To worship God with reverent tongue. 

How memory now brought to my view 

Those childhood friends I here had known — 

All seated in the same old pew 
As if, since then, no years had flown. 



56 TEE RETURN 

Of these, methouglit, how many score 
Had, in their last majestic state. 

Been borne from ont its ample door 

To pass, nay more, yon churchyard gate. 

I entered there among the dead, 

And strolled past many a chiselled stone 
At which I paused and slowly read 

The name of some remembered one. 

Such caravan of years had passed 
Since I this hallowed ground had trod, . 

'Twas now a teeming city massed 
With those whose souls repose with God. 

With sadder heart I wandered through 
The neighboring aisles still narrower, 

That I might find, and once more view. 
The sacred spot where kindred were. 



TEE RETURN 57 

When lo, I saw uprising near, 

A shaft from spotless marble hewed — 

Pure as an angel's frozen tear — 
Fit emblem of their lives renewed. 

Though sadder made by lingering here, 

Eegretfully I onward passed, 
The more, because I could but fear 

That this brief view might be my last. 

Yet be it so, 'tis joy to know 
That here such benedictions rest — 

"Where flowers of sweeter fragrance grow, 
In tribute to the loved and blest — 

Where blithesome birds that gladden spring, 
Eenounce their earlier-chosen ways. 

And hither fly, on fleeter wing. 
To sing their sweetest roundelays ; 



58 THE RETURN 

And where, forsaking other bowers, 
The humming-birds and honey bees 

Bring sweets first drawn from other flowers 
To dwell more blissful here with these, 

Where mingled with the birds of song 
They find delight unknown before. 

And my entreaty would prolong 
Their visitation evermore. 



THE PATEIARCH OAK 



Surmouiiting lofty crags and cliffs, 
And bent by Time's remorseless blast, 

An ancient oak its form uplifts, 
Defiant now as through the past. 

And here, on Horicon's wild shore. 

It gazes back on centuries, 
And through a life of twenty score 

Of years replete with memories. 

Hard by, a younger oak doth stand — 
Fit offspring of this noble sire — 

Prepared to stretch its helpful hand 
Should failing strength its aid require. 



60 TEE PATBIABGH OAK 

And tongued with Nature's mystic words, 
They closer lean as they commune, 

While in their shade the grateful herds 
Eepose through afternoons of June. 

One day, the scion speaking, said : 
"Thou, sire, dost seem the oldest here; 

Bent is thy form and gray thy head, 
And death, e'en now, may loiter near, 

"For in the last relentless storm. 
Oft didst thou groan as if in pain; 

Enraged it shook thy quivering form, 
And well-nigh laid thee with the slain. 

"While yet thy thews are tough and strong. 
With mind composed and memory clear, 

Eelate at length, in prose or song. 
The early scenes enacted here. 



THE PATRIARCH OAK 61 

''When in that primal solitude 

Which knew no voice, nor scarce a sound 
Throughout its vast infinitude 

All Nature seemed but more profound." 

''On such a theme I fain would dwell," 

Eeplied the Patriarch of old, 
"And ere I'm called to bid farewell. 

My willing story shall be told." 

And it spoke not a language rude 
Like that of wild-men it had heard. 

But one the Dryads understood. 
Which bore no sound, yet never erred. 

So, on that reminiscent day, 

The Patriarch its silence broke. 
And in a grave, impressive way 

Discoursed at length, and thus it spoke : 



62 TEE PATRIARCH OAK 

"Long ere the white man found his way 
To these forbidding solitudes, 

The baneful savage here held sway — 
Involved in ceaseless tribal feuds. 

"And here he fought his mortal foes 
So long as yet survived a brave, 

And every root beneath me knows 
And wanders to some sachem's grave. 

" So if till now I have been spared, 
(Though centuries I can retrace) 

It is because my sinews shared 
The vigor of that virile race. 

"Then, silence here was so profound 
That even Nature seemed oppressed. 

And as if grateful for the sound 
That roused her from that languid rest, 



TEE PATBIABCH OAK 63 

• *As when some towering forest tree 
Long rent by tempests, year by year, 

Fell prostrate mid tbe earth's debris, 
And crashing, startled every ear; 

**0r when some furions wind-storm swept 
The slumbering lake with lond uproar, 

The waves, like frenzied chargers leapt. 
And broke in fragments on its shore ; 

**0r when some famished wild-beast caught 
The trail to which a scent still clung, 

With prey at bay, it snarled and fought 
To rob some mother of her young, 

"For where in safety children share 

Their joyful pastimes of to-day. 
Then roamed the panther, wolf and bear. 

Relentless in their search of prey. 



64 TEE PATRIARCH OAK 

"But fiercer than the famished beast — 
Whose lust for blood no hand could stay 

Were those red demons, when, unleashed, 
They sprang from ambush for the fray. 

"And through those years of endless strife, 
Scant was the spot on this fair shore 

Which tomahawk and scalping-knife 
Had not oft stained with human gore. 

"But long at rest, those warring braves — 
The Algonquins and Iroquois — 

Have slumbered in their sunken graves, 
No more their ambush to employ. 

"The first white man to venture here 
Was Father Jogues, by Jesuits sent — 

A missionary pioneer — 
Who called the lake * Saint Sacrament.' 



THE PATBIABCH OAK 65 

"And here tliat pious man long dwelt 
To teacli the Indians Christian faith, 

Not knowing, when in prayer he knelt, 
What hand might deal an instant death.* 

''Long here the French and English fought — 
Their royal standards to uprear — 

But by vain struggle they were taught 
That empires were exotic here. 

"On yonder field their legions met 
And clenched like athletes for the fray, 

Where Dieskau gained the first onset. 
But Johnson later won the day. 

"And leading where no other dared. 
Intrepid Williams, ambushed, fell, 

Of whose brave men scarce one was spared 
The horrors of the scene to tell — 



* He fell a martyr to the faith in 1646, being brutally 
murdered by the Mohawks, among whom he was then laboring 
as missionary. 



66 THE PATBIABCH OAK 

''Where noble Hendrick, too, was led 

To perish in that slaughter-pen, 
Where he was found strewn with the dead 

Which filled, breast-high, that sombre glen. 

''I saw the valiant troops of France 
Sail through the lake in proud array, 

When Montcalm made his bold advance, 
And savage allies led the way — 

"The way to where they saw afar 
Fort William Henry, bastion-walled. 

At whose unsparing massacre 
Humanity has stood appalled; 

"Where thirst for blood was only quenched 

By tomahawking every brain. 
Until the death-strewn soil was drenched 

By dripping piles of mangled slain. 



THE PATRIARCH OAK 67 

'*I later saw the buoyant troops 

Of Abercrombie's niighty fleet, 
When through the lake his crowded sloops 

Bore on his men to doomed defeat. 

**That spectacle no pen forgets, 
Where banners waved with flags uprun 

Mid flashing arms and bayonets, 
Eesplendent in that July sun. 

"No eye discerned that awful fate 
Which soon, too soon, they were to know. 

When those who now were so elate 
Were to go down before the foe, 

''Where thrice, those legions — strong and 
brave — 

'Gainst Montcalm's serried lines were thrown. 

To meet repulse and find a grave, 

But make that field a Marathon. 



68 THE PATRIARCH OAK 

"And where thine eyes are resting now, 
Near yonder field of waving grain, 

All England's pride — the peerless Howe — 
First fell among his gallant slain. 

* ' Ticonderoga — that stronghold — 
Was won and lost, and won again. 

And by its fate alike was told 

The gain or loss of Lake Champlain, 

"Where Allen won immortal fame 
By taking with his doughty band 

(And in the Great Jehovah's name) 
The fortress and its whole command; 

"When England first was made to feel, 
In that brief hour of dawning light. 

What blows Green Mountain Boys could deal 
When armored in the cause of right. 



TEE PATRIARCH OAK 69 

''Hard by, were Arnold's vessels built 
(If built they were when half complete) 

With which that traitor, ere his guilt, 
At Valcour fought the British fleet ; 

''Where, manned by those intrepid sons, 
E'en with a fleet so crudely wrought. 

He well-nigh silenced Carleton's guns — 
Near twice his own — for Spartans fought — 

"Fought to the last expiring breath 
To rend their shackles and be free. 

And welcomed nought so much as death, 
If vassals they must longer be — 

"Nay, fought as only those can fight, 
Who, writhing 'neath a despot's heel, 

Eise up at last in awful might, 
And make to God their last appeal. 



70 TEE PATBIABCH OAK 

''And later still I heard tlie roar 
Of distant guns that anxions day, 

When England sought, as at Valconr, 
To worst our fleet at Plattsbnrg Bay, 

**Biit where her vaunted ships instead 
Were crushed as tigers crush their prey. 

Till torn and tattered to a shred. 
They struck their colors in dismay ; 

"Where scornful England soon was taught 

Her impotency on the wave, 
And that where'er McDonough fought, 

There, too, she'd find a waiting grave. 

''War's ugly sound so constant here 
Throughout those tragic days of yore. 

No longer plagues the harassed ear. 
For peace now gladdens every shore. 



THE PATBIABCE OAK 71 

"And where imperial armies fonglit 

To gain this virgin continent, 
A providential Hand hath wrought 

A free, benignant government, 

''Whose sovereign is the people's will. 
Expressed by all, denied to none; 

And here the conflict raged until 

That righteous cause at last was won. 

"And here was planted and enshrined 

The sacred tree of Liberty, 
Whose outstretched branches, intertwined. 

Are sought by all humanity. 

"So here, upon this hallowed ground. 
The weak, the downtrod, and oppressed, 

From tyranny at last have found 
A refuge and abiding rest. 



72 TEE PATBIABCH OAK 

"But death's approach I feel is near 
(For now my strength is waning fast) 

And when I go will disappear 
Those sires of whom I am the last. 

'^Thou shalt live on, and living see 

The baneful savage nevermore; 
Wliere curled the smoke from his tepee, 

From workshop now it doth outpour; 

''And where his dreaded war-whoop broke 

The spell of Nature's reverie, 
There now is heard the anvil- stroke, 

And ceaseless whirr of industry. 

"Nought, nought remains where once he trod, 

To tell that he abided here. 
Save the rude flint, turned with the sod, 

And soon this, too, shall disappear. 



TEE PATBIAECH OAK 73 

** Farewell! May Heaven thy years prolong, 

Yet not more cursed war to see 
Save to redress some grievous wrong, 

But lasting peace thy country's be I" 



SLEEP 



Sleep, whose subtle anodynes 
Doth drug the sentries of the soul 
To hold an hostage for repose ; 
That with fresh-minted coin doth fill 
Exhausted Nature's empty purse, 
Thou art life's sovereign comforter, 
That respite brings to drudging toil, 
To brooding care, and throbbing grief. 
There is no pain thou canst not soothe; 
No anguish thou canst not assuage. 
Impartial, too, thy boon is given. 
For both to peasant and to king. 
To those in gladness or despair. 
Thou art the equal almoner. 
Inconstant as the rainbow's hue. 



8LEEP 75 

And moved by nought save tliy caprice, 

No malediction can coerce, 

Nor supplication lure thee on. 

But when thy visitation comes, 

The sceptred soul abjures its throne 

And kneels a vassal at thy feet. 

The boisterous pulse of life is calmed; 

The tumult of the world is hushed ; 

Oblivion throws its mantle o'er 

The graven tablets of the brain. 

And fancy's noiseless loom then weaves 

From languor's skein of tangled thread 

The wondrous tapestry of dreams. 



THE MONAECH 



Tempus edax rerum 

Behold ! — the Monarch, Time, am I, 
Whom none shall balk, nor dare deny. 
The oldest sovereign of the earth 
Found me entrenched here at his birth, 
For long ere mortal crown was worn, 
Or king or potentate was born, 
The mandates from my ancient throne 
Resounded here from zone to zone. 
Thus I'm supreme in every clime 
Though deeds like mine are made a crime 
If done, perchance, by human hand — 
An outlaw made throughout the land. 
And though man execrates my deeds, 



THE MONARCH 77 

And piteoTisly for mercy pleads, 
Wliat care I what Ms praise may be, 
Or his anathema of me! 
Since neither blandishment nor curse 
Can ever coax me or coerce. 

My mission here is to despoil — 

To do it well, my only toil — 

So well, indeed, that nevermore 

Shall that thing live that lived before. 

And envy tells no rival how 

To snatch the laurel from my brow. 

And would 'st thou know what I've achieved'? 
Ask the despairing — the bereaved — 
Recount the races, puissant, vast, 
That roamed the earth in ages past, 
The outlines of whose crumbling tomb 
Are lost in ever-deepening gloom. 



78 THE MONARCH 

That I am partial to no friend 

Or spite a foe, none will contend. 

I have no friend, but half my foes 

Would outcount flakes of Arctic snows. 

Because my victims well obey, 

(Oft with scant time to kneel and pray) 

No armies I employ to awe, 

Or force submission to my law, 

Yet Christian lands denounce me when 

Their thrones drip with the blood of men. 

I delve at noonday and at night, 
(For my vocation needs no light) 
And on with muffled feet I stride 
As noiseless as the lifting tide. 
And wake not those who, if they sleep, 
May cease for one brief hour to weep. 
And since hale youth is ever mine, 
Of weariness I show no sign 
At close of day, nor yet the year. 
In loading death upon my bier. 



TEE MONARCH 79 

Nor reacMng down into the grave 
To turn to dust what Nature gave. 

Behold my work already done 
With yet my purpose scarce begun I 
Where tropic suns now smite the earth, 
Gleamed icebergs once, of ponderous girth; 
Where ocean billows once lept high. 
Now Chimborazo cleaves the sky; 
Where primal Eome was hewn and reared. 
Five Eomes in turn have disappeared ; 
Where Carthage held imperial sway, 
Wild forest beasts now seek their prey. 
And where loomed Karnak's mighty walls. 
The sluggish reptile creeps and crawls — 
All ages past to me appear 
Like yesterdays, and quite as near. 

The lord of skies and seas and lands, 

I spare no work of human hands. 

The sculptured forms by genius wrought. 



80 THE MONABCH 

The momiments where heroes fought, 

The courts where kings look down from thrones, 

The pantheons where lie their bones, 

The fanes upreared by pious hands, 

The pyramids on Egypt's sands — 

Where mouldering Pharoah mummies lie 

Concealed to cheat my searching eye — 

Man's castles and his rustic homes, 

His temples with their gilded domes, 

His campaniles and his towers 

Where tolls the knell of passing hours; 

His treasures, trophies, battle-won, 

His states and empires, one by one, 

Alike shall perish with the rest, 

And turn to dust, at my behest. 

Yet mark, withal, what still shall be. 
And nought can frustrate my decree. 
Proud Etna's flames no more shall bum, 
Nor glaciers freeze and melt in turn ; 



TEE MONARCH 81 

Unfathomed oceans, dark and drear, 
Shall vanish like a transient tear; 
To nebulae I'll change the earth 
And thus restore its primal dearth; 
I'll pluck the planets from the sMes, 
(Which dazzle now man's wondering eyes) 
And then blot out the blazing sun 
And turn to vapor, whence begun ; 
Then, midst the ruin I have wrought, 
And desolation — nothing aught — 
Behold me seated on my throne — 
A Monarch still — though left alone! 



ON A DEW DEOP 



What is that chaste, that sparkling thing, 
Which to the rose at dawn doth cling, 
And nestled to its throbbing breast. 
Plays ardent lover while a guest? 

'Tis but a tear of weeping night — 
The weeping of a glad delight — 
Till startled by obtruding day. 
Night, fearing capture, steals away. 



ODE TO A BULLFINCH 



A captive made, as if some baneful beast 
And not the inoffending thing thou art, 
'Tis strange that thou shouldst still have heart 

for song, 
Or evermore disport, or blithesome be. 
Afar from groves that sheltered thee when 

young, 
Where still thy kindred in their freedom dwell 
And harken for thy voice — thy fate unknown — 
Disheartened at thy absence, so prolonged. 
Full much my guilty heart doth me reproach 
When I reflect what unprovoked wrong 
My selfish greed has done thee, gentle one. 
The more because thou knowest well my deed. 



84 ODE TO A BULLFINCH 

WMch deeper makes regret that not atones. 
Yet, no resentment plagues thy placid breast, 
Such as, for half thy cause, man would avenge, 
But, unlike him, a guerdon thou dost give 
By gladdening all the day with such rare song 
As would dishearten sirens should they hear. 
Or nightingale mistake for some lost mate. 
But lo, the tranquil twilight hour has come — 
All-hallowed by the vesper thou hast sung — 
And I must bid thee loath farewell till morn. 
Till then, may peace pervade the downy breast 
Which folds that all-forgiving heart of thine — 
Peace undeserved by that one robbed of me I 



A GENTLE MAIDEN DO I KNOW 



A gentle maiden do I know 
Who so bewilders human eyes, 

That when beheld, it seems as though 
One an,2:el less dwelt in the skies. 



^&^ 



In her so much of the divine 
Is shown in her seraphic face, 

'Twere fitting that by Heaven's design 
Her home should be some holy place. 

Her smile is like a radiant flower — 
The blossom of her blithesome heart — 

One unconstrained, and borne each hour 
By native grace that knows no art. 



-it- 



86 A GENTLE MAIDEN DO I KNOW 

Her lips are like two rosebuds grown 

In touch, upon a single stem, 
Which, when she smiles, burst forth full- 
blown — 

Sunshine itself seems born of them. 

Her voice is softer than that heard 
"When doves croon to their helpless young, 

With pathos of some mate-lost bird 
Whose plaint till then had been unsung. 

Her eyes are that celestial blue 

That deepens with the summer shower. 

And would by tenderness subdue 
All threat of dark and evil power. 

Her blush is like a damask rose 

Concealed in some vine-tangled wall. 

But when exposed, benignly throws 
Its prisoned glory over all. 



A GENTLE MAIDEN DO I ENOW 87 

In her all graces are so blent 

In one embodied loveliness, 
That on her one could gaze content 

Through life — if he could not caress I 



AN AMOEETTE 



The favoring stars shine o'er my head, 
For now the lingering day hath fled, 
Whose loitering hours seemed years to me. 
Because they held me far from thee. 

Behold, and with compassion's eyes, 
Thy lover who with longing sighs, 
And hear the message of his heart. 
Which of thine own seems but a part. 

That message is its fervent prayer. 
Which long repressed, still smothers there. 
Yet shonldst thou hear it with disdain, 
Love's quenchless fire would still remain. 



AN AMOBETTE 89 

But helpless as Prometheus bound, 
And like him, bleeding with my wound, 
I bring to thee a heart aglow, 
That my wild passion thou shalt know. 

Which thirsts thee as the burning plain 
Thirsts for the long-belated rain, 
With love as pure, and strong, and deep, 
As Gulf Stream currents where they sweep. 

Some fairy would I gladly be, 
To serve thy bidding constantly — 
To shield thee from all evil eyes, 
And guard thy self-made paradise ; 

I'd lure the birds from chosen climes 
To sing for thee their sweetest rhymes. 
For thy rare beauty would inspire 
Their raptured souls with that desire. 



90 AN AMOBETTE 

Unseen, I'd watch the gathering bee, 
And where he sipped I'd pluck for thee 
The sweetest flowers that bud and bloom, 
To shed round thee their rare perfume. 

I'd guard thy slumbers through the night, 
And prompt for thee dreams of delight — 
Dreams of some far-off world of bliss. 
For thou wert made too pure for this. 

harken, I implore thee now 

To that heart-longing I avow, 

Then but one favoring smile bestow, 

And teach me heaven's own joy to know, 

Or if, when thou art wrapped in sleep. 
One tender thought of me may creep 
Into thy visions, unsuppressed, 
In rapture, then, this heart shall rest! 



CAPTIVITY 



Thy tender, thoughtfiil, earnest eyes — 
Within their tranquil depths there lies 
A magic power, unknown to thee, 
That chains me in captivity. 

The morning light the brighter grows 
Wherever their effulgence flows, 
And e'en at night, their potent ray 
Converts the darkness into day — ■ 

A day so bright with their own light 
That should each star and satellite. 
Nay, every planet cease to blaze, 
Night's darkest hours would rival day's. 



92 CAPTIVITY 

So would ones pathway through the years 
Of life's contending hopes and fears, 
Be made one blissful, hallowed spell. 
Should such supernal light there dwell. 



I THINK OF THEE 



I think of thee when, dim and gray, 
Belated, drowsy night is roused. 
And loath to go, half-clad and slow, 

Eecedes before advancing day. 

I think of thee when anxious care 

Enslaves me through the drudging day. 
But toil were sweet, with joy replete, 

Could I for thee my burdens bear. 

I think of thee with fonder heart 
When Day, embracing timid Night, 
Prolongs his kiss of rapturous bliss 

Like lovers when enforced to part. 



94 / THINK OF THEE 

And when, at last, I seek repose, 

On thee my craving dreams still feast, 
Yet when I wake and dreams forsake, 

My yearning but intenser grows. 

Thus throbs my heart unceasingly 
From dawn to dark, from dark to dawn. 
In wild desire, a quenchless fire. 

Till smothered by eternity! 



A MEMOEY 



I gazed on such a beauteous face, 
And form of such surpassing grace, 
That had some genius e'er portrayed 
The peerless creature I surveyed, 
Then would the lustre of his name 
Have brighter made the page of fame. 

While thus I gazed, intent, beguiled. 
The face, as if unconscious, smiled, 
When 'er a harp flew two white hands 
Like mated swallows o'er the sands. 
Methought what wondrous magic brings 
Such melting strains from those mute strings ! 

But Nature had no gift denied, 

Or grace, where countless others vied, 



96 A MEMORY 

For when she sang, methonght snch notes 
Could only come from angel throats, 
Since nought but those could ever bear 
The sweetness of the ones heard there. 

First came the warble of a bird; 
Then but a human voice was heard; 
Then some still more impassioned strain 
Infused my pulse, and thrilled my brain — 
As 'er the strand the billows roll, 
These lapped and laved my raptured soul. 

But vain indeed it were to ask 

Of artist hand — unequal task — 

To counterfeit the grace divine 

Embodied there in every line, 

For e 'en had Eaphael sought to trace 

The beauty of that form and face, 

The vision would have dazed his brain, 

And moveless must his hand have lain! 



THE SLUGGAED 



God help the man, in all whose days, 
No worthy deed is found to praise; 
Who has in life no aim or end 
Beyond the pleasures it may lend ; 
Who never soiled his palms by work, 
And never will, if he can shirk ; 
Who with no useful calling learned 
Has never yet a dollar earned; 
Who shifts and shirks whatever he can. 
Imposing on his fellowman 
The burdens they alike should bear. 
And have for him no thought or care — 
Who wears the latest cut in clothes 
And for each stitch, his tailor owes; 
Who asks you for "just one more loan,'' 



98 TEE SLUGGARD 

Yet to repay one, ne'er was known; 
Who deems life a consummate bore, 
And each day worse than that before, 
Yet, like a spendthrift, seeks to borrow 
For use to-day, hours of the morrow; 
Who every font of pleasure dries, 
And no voluptuous sense denies — 
A drifting hulk on life's high sea. 
Attaint with moral leprosy — 
God help, I say, this worthless man; 
No other will ; He only can ! 



UNDAUNTED 



Day, lingering in the darkening West 

Lifts higli the taper in his hand, 

"Whose purple rays benignly rest, 

Where hurrying Night shall straightway 
stand. 

Throughout the heaven's vaulted height 
Hang twilight lamps, now burning low. 

Which, as they spy the goddess. Night, 
Salute her with their brightest glow. 

She, stealing from her curtained bowers, 
Where resting she hath hidden lain, 

Eesumes her vigil through the hours 
To guard, in turn. Day's vast domain. 



100 UNDAUNTED 

Together, they, like sentinels, 
Patrolled the centuries that were, 

Which, huddled in their mouldy cells 
Now rest in Time's vast sepulchre. 

Since parting at primeval dawn 
When last he saw her beauteous face. 

Day hath pursued this nimble fawn 
With longing heart, and eager pace. 

Unwearied by his futile chase ; 

Undaunted, too, by cruel fate, 
But yearning for one fond embrace, 

Each morn he bursts the Orient gate. 

His passion now resistless grown. 
He throws his arms from roseate bowers, 

But timid Night, alert, hath flown ; — 
Behold! her tears drip from the flowers. 



ACEOSS THE STREET 



To club-house loiterers who, en masse, 
Stare out at maidens as they pass — 
That noonday throng, just out of bed, 
Which turns its eyes, but not its head- 
AU prinked and plumed for the parade 
In tailored suits — half ''ready made"- 
To prurient loiterers such as these, 
No earthly pageant could so please. 

But now and then a clubless man 
May have his day Elysian, 
For as he trudges home at night. 
There may from off the car alight, 
Just at the corner where he dwells, 
Some Aphrodite who excels 



102 ACROSS THE STREET 

The Grecian goddess, both in grace, 

And beauty of her classic face; 

And then — since things have turned his way ■ 

May learn, perchance, that very day 

That this rare maid lives in the suite 

That faces his, across the street. 

Yes, once I met a celibate 

(That thing old-maids so deprecate) 

Who vouched the truth, as well of this. 

As other forms of worldly bliss 

To which his fancy strangely clung, 

Until the fateful denouement, 

Which showed well how, when came the test, 

A maiden played the game the best, 

And just how well she knew the art, 

He thus proceeded to impart: 

"Once from my window, hour by hour, 
I gazed on Nature's fairest flower; 



ACROSS THE STREET 103 

A creature far more sliy than bold, 

With glowing cheeks, and hair of gold, 

Whose eyes returned the sky's own blue, 

Whose lips would shame the poppy's hue. 

Whose form, so luscious, ripe and rare 

'Twould animate the very air 

Through which she moved, with faultless grace, 

To hide, at times, her roguish face. — 

Who smiled in most bewitching ways. 

And each month flirted thirty days 

Most ardently, yet so reserved. 

That had my bread been likewise served 

I should have starved, and no regret. 

While gazing on this rare coquette. 

* ' So while this maid, in that coy way. 
Thus tortured me from day to day, 
I realized how very fine 
Grandmother Prude had drawn the line 



104 ACROSS TEE STBEET 

That tolerated half her wiles 

But held us dumb as two gargoyles. 

"But science, ah, that wondrous thing 
May peasant serve, as well as Mng; 
And since dame Grundy, be it known. 
Had quite o'erlooked the telephone 
(As I had mine, where on the wall 
It long had hung without a "call") 
This, I employed from day to day, 
(But in no interdicted way) 
To sup the nectar, sip by sip. 
In accents from her honied lip. 
Until my brain took wings and flew 
To realms whereof it never knew, 
"Where sweet communion was maintained 
And more than former joys attained, 
'Till, Icarus-like, the heated wires 
Got melted by our amorous fires. 
And when one day, quite unawares. 



ACROSS THE STREET 105 

I dropped to earth to make repairs, 
My charmer, with her back-hair down, 
And in plain view of half the town, 
Serenely stood at her front door, 
There flirting tvith my janitor !^^ 



OLAEK AND THE OEEGON 



The Oregon at anclior lay within the Golden 
Gate, 

And far remote from surging waves — a thing 
inanimate — 

When came an order — urgent, brief — to 
''Make for Callao,'' 

And there await, for war might be, and with 
no dastard foe. 

''All hands to anchor V^ shouted Clark; then 
tugged each groaning chain, 

And ere the night that battleship was plough- 
ing through the main. 

And from that grave and anxious hour, for tid- 
ings stUl to learn, 



CLAEK AND THE OREGON 107 

She rusliing, left her foaming wake for nigh a 

league astern. 
Along Pacific's coast she sped, as ship ne'er 

sped before, 
Led by the Southern Cross whose beam each 

wave in sequence bore. 
Callao reached, late orders read, ^'At once for 

Rio sail,*' — 
Then on she swept like mountain mist before 

a furious gale, 
And through Magellan's hungry jaws — more 

dreaded than armed foes — 
Till safe beyond their reefs and rocks, three 

lusty cheers arose. 
What, though Cervera's fleet were met? — 

what, though in wait it lay? — 
This made him but more daring, and more 

eager for the fray. 
What, though the crew keen hunger felt, and 

knew nor sleep nor rest. 



108 CLARK AND TEE OREGON 

If yielding what they needed most, would serve 

their country best? 
The sturdy stokers, nigh outworn, still fiercer 

kept their fires. 
And not a man, though parched with thirst, 

once stopped to quench desires. 
The North Star now, from realms afar, intenser 

made its ray — 
That beacon which the brightest bums when 

lighting Freedom's way; 
And toward its beam, through battering seas, 

the battleship swept on. 
While Clark stood constant on the bridge, and 

watched for lurking Don. 
At length she entered Eio's port, where late 

dispatches bore 
News that the dogs of war were loosed, and 

bayed along our shore, 
When like a meteor she swept on to join our 

fleet that lay 



CLARK AND THE OREGON 109 

At Santiago's armored gate, where it held Spain 

at bay. 
The engineers, unconscious grown by stifling 

air, alack, 
Borne to the deck and half restored, tried hard 

to stagger back; 
And though this sovereign of the sea, five thou- 
sand leagues had run, 
This paragon of battleships, as fresh as when 

begun. 
With Clark at helm, and crew elate — this more 

than welcome guest — 
Unhalting, pushed to Sampson's line, then 

proved herself his best ! 

That Sabbath morn had calmly dawned, and 

through the languid air 
Came far, faint sounds of convent bells, that 

called to anxious prayer; 



110 CLARK AND THE OREGON 

But Oh! what crashing thunders break, when 

now the f oemen meet ! 
For look yon there, on swiftly comes Cervera's 

doughty fleet, 
Defiant, and with war-like mien, out through 

the narrow bay! 
All-desperate now, they open fire, and force the 

awful fray. 
But Sampson's roaring guns reply, '^You're 

welcome here, come onl'^ — 
When furies of a thousand hells were gathered 

here in one! 
Through smoke and fume the battle waged, and 

every missile sent. 
Was planted where it counted most, and where 

the gunners meant. 
When, leading all, the Oregon dashed swiftly 

to the van. 
And raked and riddled with her shells each 

deck where dared a man, 



CLABK AND THE OREGON 111 

While Clark forgot his conning-tower where 

danger was the least, 
And on his forward turret stood where danger 

never ceased. 
The Spaniards read their tragic fate in their 

doomed cruisers' light, 
Which all aflame, dashed on the shore, glad to 

give Tip the fight. 

Henceforth, on fame's eternal page, the Oregon 

will shine, 
And Clark — that brave ** Green-Mountain 

Boy" — will be in every line; 
That hill-bom hero of the waves, whose name 

revered will be, 
So long as valor has a place in annals of the 

seal 

Elsewhere ones rank depends on kings, whose 
whim makes *' noble blood," 



112 CLARK AND THE OREGON 

But Clark was not that way endowed — Ms 

knighthood came from God — 
The kind that captured old ''Fort Ti.," and 

won at Bennington, 
Where grand old Stark the Hessians fought, 

and drove from every gun. 
And so where Clark shall have command — that 

leader true and brave — 
From every mast, on every breeze, "Old Glory" 

still shall wave ! 



CHILDHOOD'S DKEAM 



Ah, blessed was that childhood day 
When with sweet Alice, blithe and gay, 
We tripped adown the country lane — 
Her hand in mine — her gallant swain. 

0, she was more than Saxon fair 
With sunbeams nestled in her hair, 
While from her tranquil, deep-blue eyes, 
Outshone a gleam of Paradise. 

Her lips were like twin rubies set 
With pearls between — I see them yet — 
As when she, blushing bashfully. 
Said: ''I love you, if you love me." 



114 CHILDHOOD'S DEE AM 

I answered in no doubting way, 
Down in tlie lane that joyful day; 
And onr two hearts thence beat as one, 
And few were hours they beat alone. 

No threatening cloud or gathering mist 
E'er darkened this our childhood tryst, 
But every sun shone full and fair, 
More than content to linger there. 

We loved as only children love 
When mated first in Heaven above, 
Whose gracious smile was on us cast 
And in whose beam our joys were passed. 

Life then was one sweet reverie; 
Its rhythm one fond melody; 
That melody one gentle voice 
Whose accents bade my heart rejoice. 



CHILDHOOD' 8 DREAM 115 

But lo ! what grief soon pierced my heart 
And sent its pang to every part, 
When illness came, and Alice died, 
And wondering angels turned and sighed. 

And since that day, how anxiously 

I've tried to solve that mystery — 

To learn why buds are made to bloom. 

Then, ere their fruitage, reach their doom — 

Why childhood, fresh and fair and pure, 
Should be the one for death to lure. 
While age is left to totter through 
Allotted years concealed from view. 

Life's noon had passed ere once again 
I wandered through that hallowed lane. 
But lo, how changed ! — few signs it bore 
That I had known the place before. 



116 CHILDHOOD'S DREAM 

I sought the humble cottage near, 
Which all my childhood was so dear, 
But found it not; where once it stood 
"Were tangled weeds, and fire-charred wood. 

With saddened heart I turned to go, 
But spied, hard by, a headstone low, 
Whereat I paused, and through my tears, 
Eead — "Here lies Alice: aged ten years." 



WILLIAM McKINLEY 



True to each trust, and best when trusted most ; 
For country first, though facing war or peace ; 
Making in peace its greatness greater still. 
While yet in war, his young, intrepid breast, 
On many a blood-soaked, death-strewn battle- 
field 
Was bared to shield a Nation's heart from 

harm. 
Gentle, strong; courageous, just; he walked 

erect 
The paths of righteousness whereon was thrown 
The radiant light of his unsullied soul — 
The emanation of creative Heaven. 
This peerless man, by fate ordained to lead. 



118 WILLIAM Mckinley 

And lift mankind to more exalted heights, 
Alas I by Anarch's venomed fang lies slain! 
And when he fell, a Nation mute with woe 
Stood dazed and awestruck at his bier, and lo, 
Beyond the seas, e 'en to remotest lands. 
Unbidden tears and solemn-tolling bells 
Bespoke an anguish deep as was our own. 
That blameless life ; that apt, sagacious tongue, 
(Which ne'er was heard save for his country's 

weal) 
Though hushed on earth f orevermore, yet speak 
As with an angel's trumpet and declare 
That, in the precious lesson he bequeathed, 
The better life is lingering with us still. 

September, 1901. 



DESTINY 



As I strolled past an ancient hall, 
With ivied tower, and vine-clad wall, 
A beauteous rose peered through the maze 
Whereat I paused and fixed my gaze. 

Though tremulous, as if through fear, 
It seemed to whisper to come near. 
And bending low to catch each word, 
This was the touching plaint I heard: 

"Once I with happy comrades dwelt 
Where ne'er a stranger's hand was felt — 
In far-off fields where wild- woods twine — 
Companioned with the herds and kine. 



120 DESTINY 

''Forever free from toil and care, 
With naught but pleasure for our share, 
We dreamed the tranquil hours away, 
Throughout each languid, summer day. 

"Of danger then we had no thought, 
For by no others were we sought 
Than by the birds and honey bees, 
And butterflies, and friends like these. 

"But now, how changed! Where'er we bloom 
We're sure to find our early doom; 
No more for us the happy hours 
Once shared in those secluded bowers. 

"Here did I have a gentle mate. 
Whose love for me was passing great, 
But ere it had become half grown, 
I was despoiled and left alone ; 



DESTINY 121 

"For while the thorns that guard each flower 
True to their trust, enforce their power, 
Yet would some ruthless hand each day 
Pluck off and bear our best away — 

"Away to where some care-worn face — 
Familiar at the market-place — 
By waiting long, and selling low. 
Prolongs a half -fed life of woe; 

"Or where, within the footlight's glare, 
'Tis nightly hurled in places where 
Some soubrette holds a motley throng 
With flippant jest and ribald song; 

"Or where it droops in worse despair 
When tangled in some harlot's hair, 
And through a long, revolting night. 
Would languish, fade and die affright; 



122 DESTINY 

''Or where it decks the trembling bride, 
When kneeling at the altar side — 
Fit symbol of a purer love 
Descended here from realms above; 

''Or where some heart-crnshed mother weeps 
For her beloved, who lifeless sleeps, 
It fain would have her silent prayer 
Ascend on incense it sheds there." 

Thus spoke that inoffending rose 
Which told its pleasures and its woes. 
But of its mate, what fate befell, 
Or good or ill, what tongue shall tell I 



THE OLD YEAE 



The Old Year, burdened with his spoil, 

Stole off, and staggered as he strode, 
For he was wearied by the toil 

By which he'd gained his ponderous load. 
Yet, never halting in his quest, 

(As if his victims were too few) 
He forward on his mission pressed 

As if fresh fields were still in view. 
He bore a desperado's mien 

As he stalked on exultingly, 
For in his demon eye was seen 

The marks of sleepless revelry; 
Nay, everywhere his visage told 

The tale of long debauchery, 
Yet with a lust still uncontrolled, 



124 THE OLD YEAR 

He hungered for satiety. 
His field liad been that one wherein 

All seasons bore but ripened grain; 
Where youth and age, where alien, kin, 

Alike were garnered in his train. 
Unmoved by prayers, or sobs, or tears, 

He sought to make his carnival 
The mightiest far of all the years. 

And count his work the best of all. 
Begone, thou heartless reveler, 

And hence remain forevermore; 
Thy work is one vast sepulchre. 

And thou hast closed and sealed the door! 



GOD'S HOEOLOGUE 



God tells the hoary age of earth 
In strata formed about its girth : 
This horologue, wound by His hand, 
Is such that all may understand. 

But in its workings — wondrous, vast - 
Eecurring seasons as they passed 
Were as mere seconds in the score, 
And centuries counted scarcely more. 

And after eons shall have flown. 
Its age shall even then be known. 
For found beneath this mundane sod. 
Will be that same time-piece of God. 



DISILLUSION 



could I once bring back again those happy 

childhood hours, 
Made joyful by a sweet content, amid youth's 

budding flowers, 
Till in my sleep, some roving nymph sought my 

confiding ear, 
And whispered there enchanting tales that 

dazzled me to hear. 

Ere then, no restless discontent had plagued 
my tranquil peace, 

Or ventured to molest the spell where joy had 
no surcease ; 

For life was at its morning then, and its be- 
nignant light 



DISILLUSION 127 

Encompassed me at noonday, and tinged my 
dreams at night. 

But I was promised power and fame, and cof- 
fers piled with gold. 

And palaces as gorgeous as the Doges had of 
old, 

Adorned with treasures, quaint and rare — the 
spoil of every land — 

With retinues and willing slaves, to serve my 
least command. 

Nay, that henceforth my life should be like some 

luxurious dream — 
One never known to those who toil, o'er whom 

I was supreme — 
For I to princely rule was born — confided to 

me then — 
Because my veins coursed noble blood, not that 

of common men. 



128 DISILLUSION 

Nay more, that kingdoms I should have — vast 

empires in domain — 
O'er which, like potentates of old, in glory I 

should reign. 
And that my courts and pageants should in 

splendor far outvie 
The proudest pomp of other lands, and dazzle 

every eye. 

But lo ! I was not told the cost of all that pomp 

and power ; 
That I'd be robbed of all my peace from that 

ill-fated hour, 
Or that I nevermore should feel my childhood 

heart aglow 
With transports which till then I'd known, but 

all be changed to woe. 

No kingdoms yet have come to me, nor palaces, 
nor gold. 



DISILLUSION 129 

Which on that night were plighted me, though 

now I have grown old. 
Yet patiently I've waited through the unre- 

qniting years, 
And watched with eager, longing eyes, and often 

through my tears — 

Tears for those heart-remembered joys that 
sweet contentment gave 

Before ambition bound me, as its helpless, cring- 
ing slave ; 

For dearer far than kingdoms, or palaces, or 
gold, 

Were those lost days of sweet content, — the 
childhood days of old ! 



AN EPITHALAMIUM 



Since Eden's pair, that primal mom, 
First kindled love's consuming flame, 

The millions that have since been bom 
Have played, in turn, the same old game. 

It matters not that Eden lies 

Amid a far-off hemisphere, 
Since love alone makes Paradise, 

Where springtime lingers all the year. 

Eing out the merry marriage bell! 

Twine garlands round the bride to-day. 
For none who heard her vows shall tell 

That this fair one balked at "o&et/"! 



AN EPITHALAMIUM 131 

All hail with glad and joyful hymn; 

Drink health and luck to bride and groom, 
And fill your beakers to the brim, 

Then every ruddy drop consume ! 



MONT BLANC 



Eternal mount, whose brow serene 
Is pillowed on the clouds, half-seen. 
What longing thy abode inspires 
In human hearts — what vast desires ! 

'Tis not decreed that mortal clod 
Should dwell on earth, and still with God, 
But thou, reared from an earthly vale, 
Dost in supernal realms regale. 

And then, as if thou hadst a soul 
Pervading the celestial goal, 
Thou hast attained the crown which now 
Triumphant rests upon thy brow. 



MONT BLANC 133 

And lo, tliroTiglioiit the silent night, 
The drifting snows pile height on height, 
And thus renewed from day to day, 
It ne'er shall fade, or pass away. 

But brightly from those realms divine 
Shall ever and forever shine — 
A beacon, beaming far and wide. 
For weary, wayward feet, a guide. 



COLUMBIA 
(an appeal fob ouba) 



Goddess, turn thy beauteous face 
To that fair Isle where dwells a race 
Whose plaintive voice, upraised to thee, 
Pleads but for righteous liberty! 

For since the travail of thy birth, 

Of freedom thou hast known the worth. 

And at its altar vigil kept 

While foes intrenched, and sluggards slept. 

The girdle 'neath thy throbbing breast 
Was forged from chains of those oppressed; 
And stripes upon thy stola — these 
Are blood-stains of thy votaries. 



COLUMBIA 135 

The spangled cap that crowns thy head 
Was hallowed by the martyr dead, 
Who braved and bled, who fought and fell, 
That Freedom might survive to tell. 

Stretch, then, thy helpful arm to aid 
That hapless race, by fate betrayed. 
And tear away their loathsome chains, 
And tyrants teach that God still reigns! 

June, 1898. 



TO MAE JOEIE 

(a debutante) 



Marjorie, with brow so fair, and heart so 
chaste and pure, 

The world adoring thee beholds thy fit investi- 
ture, 

For thou dost stand in queenly robes — a bride 
to coming years — 

As smiling Future beckons thee, but leaves the 
Past in tears! 

goddess of the present, thou! vision of 
the morrow. 

Thy younger comrades bid adieu, with pensive 
heart and sorrow. 



TO MABJOBIE 137 

May every fond, enchanting dream of child- 
hood's golden hour 

Bring forth its glad reality, and every bud its 
flower. 

But as life's pathway thou shalt tread, and up 
its steeps shalt climb, 

Choose for thy comrades Charity, and Hope 
and Faith sublime ; 

Then thou hast taught humanity how justly 
thou hast earned 

The heavenly radiance from above, that on thy 
head is turned. 



THE ALCHEMIST 



That peerless Alchemist — the heart — 
Transcending the magician's art, 
Imbues each tear, by passion wrought, 
With distillations of our thought. 

Hence one emotion-laden tear 
Knows more than wisest sage or seer, 
Or oceans vast, that ebb and flow. 
Of human joy and human woe. 



THE FINAL VOYAGE 



The night was starless, bleak and drear, 
And through the rigging one could hear 
Discordant and unceasing moans, 
Like those of some dread monster's groans, 
As rolled the ship from side to side 
Through sea and storm she still defied. 

And bravely battling, day by day, 
What first was fear, became dismay, 
When braver hearts the faint would cheer 
Could they suppress their own sad tear. 
Lest kindred on the distant shore 
Might wait, alas, forevermore. 



140 TEE FINAL VOYAGE 

Beneath the cabin's creaking beam, 
In calm repose and joyful dream, 
An aged mother, lone and ill, 
Throughout the tempest slumbered still, 
Whose lamp of life, with fading ray. 
Foretold her near and final day. 

Long widowed, she had lived to toil 
On Scotia's unrequiting soil, 
For, one by one, at man's estate, 
Their pulses strong, their hearts elate. 
Her boys had sought Columbia's shores 
Where Plenty smiled from open doors. 

And thus, with all life's sunshine lost. 
Time touched her with its wilting frost; 
Then years grew long, as shadows stray 
And lengthen with departing day, 
And fondest of her dreams were fain 
To greet her precious boys again. 



THE FINAL VOYAGE 141 

Thougli tossed by that relentless sea, 
She slumbered on in ecstacy — 
Still dreaming of her darling boys 
And future years of waiting joys, 
But ere the long-lost sun arose, 
Her soul had fled all earthly woes. 

With morning light, in steerage lay — 
Its spirit fled — the mortal clay, 
And soon the sailors' heavy tread 
Bore to the deck the humble dead ; 
Its shroud — an outworn, offcast sail — 
It mattered not what might avail. 

And then, submissive to command. 
Those brawny sailors, strong of hand. 
Committed to the famished wave 
That which its hunger seemed to crave, 
And lost was that in its embrace, 
Whose sepulchre no kin can trace. 



142 THE FINAL VOYAGE 

For her no tolling bell was heard, 
Nor yet by friend a spoken word; 
But elsewhere will be tolled a knell 
In hearts that still remember well 
Their slumbers and their blissful rest 
Upon that mother's loving breast. 

No pealing anthem there was sung, 
Nor praiseful chant of human tongue; 
But heard instead will ever be 
The murmur of the murmuring sea, 
Whose billows will forever roll 
A requiem for her peace of soul. 



NOV 4 1909 



^O CAT O'V. 



NUV i^ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRPCC 

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0^15^08 340 8 m\ 



